


Presence

by isuilde



Category: A3! (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Living Together, M/M, Unrepentant Fluff, kinda sorta
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22204645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isuilde/pseuds/isuilde
Summary: 悪い夢を見た臣が、綴の存在はどれほど自分との交ぜているか実感してる話です。(1章は日本語版で、2章は英語版です。)—————————————Omi wakes up from a nightmare, and learns how a presence can be so intertwined to his own.(First chapter is the Japanese version so English readers please go straight to second chapter, thank you!)
Relationships: Fushimi Omi/Minagi Tsuzuru
Comments: 7
Kudos: 43





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> えーあにがそろそろ始まるお祝いです！
> 
> 同棲臣綴の設定です。那智さんが悪夢で出て来る表現があります。日本語力はまだ上達していない(むしろ悪くなった気がする...)ので結構ぐちゃぐちゃですのでご注意下さい。お優しい目で読んで頂けたら嬉しいです！
> 
> こちらのお話はなつのさん(ツイッターで@72no_3ra1さん)のイラストを見てから妄想が止められない結果です。そしてまさか去年なつのさんにリクエストさせて頂いたイラストも同棲の臣綴の設定で描いて下さいました！なので許可を頂き、ワンシーンとして書かせて頂き、そのイラストも貼らせて頂きました。なつのさん、本当にありがとうございました！

臣は時々那智の夢を見る。

半分以上はいい夢である。風と競走するようにバイクを走らせて隣のバイクにいる那智が高声で笑っているとか、もしや実家で暑い部屋に 2 人でゴロゴロしてるとか。風に乱れて那智の髪、悩みなどないようなあくび。そして大切に触れる指先。 25 歳で過去を振り切った今の臣にとってはいい夢であり、大事な思い出でもあり、寝起きの時は世界をもっと眩しくさせる夢だ。

めったにないことだけれど、那智が出て来る悪夢も時々見る。那智の血で染めたアスファルトその日の夢、そして自分だけが生き残った罪の暗闇。その中、数回だけ見たことあった最悪の夢とは、その自分の罪を許せない那智が臣の大切なものを連れ去った夢だ。俺みたいな人間は何故生き残った、生き残る資格がないなら俺のものはいやでも全部那智にあげるべきだ、と夢の中の自分が恐ろしい程思ってしまう。

今夜は何故かその夢を見た。

目が覚めたら全身冷汗をかいている。ふと瞬間、何故生きているか、何故ここにいるか、恐ろしい程自分を殺そうみたいな暗い感想で頭が一杯だ。過去を振り切ったはずなのに。那智が絶対に自分の大事なものを奪うはずもないのに。分かっていてもこの瞬間は呼吸が苦しくなる程自分が暗闇に溶け込む気がする。

夢の中、那智が誰を連れ去って行ったのか？

覚えていないのは多分祝福のそのものだろう。長い間、部屋の暗闇の中でただただ天井を眺めて深呼吸を振り返して冷静を取り戻そうとする。那智は自分を攻めるわけがないはずだ。那智もきっと自分の幸せを願っているはずだ。生きて行くってことは罪じゃない。

こうして頭が分かってても心の騒めきが続いている。臣がため息をしてベッドから起き上がる。隣に誰もが居ない。ベッドの上に空いているスペースが冷たく感じる。部屋の少し開いている扉に視線を向けたら、リビングからかすかな灯が見える。そうか、恋人はまだ起きている。確か今日は色々書けそうと言っていた気がする。そう思って臣が裸足で部屋を後にしてリビングの向かう。

予感通り、その恋人がノートパソコンで没頭して頭の中にある世界やストーリーを言葉の形にする。ソファで背を丸くなって大きな猫のように見えて可愛いなぁと思ってしまった臣がふっと笑う。その小さな笑い声で気づかれたのか分からないが砂色の頭がびくってして、ノートパソコンから見上げて臣の方向に驚く視線を向ける。

「え、臣さん？起こせてしまいましたか？」

「いや、綴のせいじゃないんだ。ちょっとな。．．．脚本、まだ書いているか？」

「っす。いいネタが結構浮かんでいるんで」

「ホットココアでも飲もうか？綴に邪魔にならないなら」

少しだけでも側に居させたい、という言葉は臣の口から出て来ないけれど、柔らかい笑みを浮かべて綴が分かってくれるようだ。

「では頼みます」

「分かった。ありがとな」

リビングに繋がった小さなキッチンに足を運ぶ。冷蔵庫から牛乳を取るのも、焜炉に鍋を置くのも、鍋に牛乳を弱火で温めるのも、そしてココアをふるいをかけながら入れるのも全て手慣れたものだ。夜中でノートパソコンのカタカタキーを打つ音が耳になれたと同じぐらい。 2 人はこの小さな 1LDK マンションに同棲し始まったから半年もたっていないが自分がこの場所、この空間には恐ろしい程慣れているようになった。

いつか綴が側から居なくなったら．．．

考えられないことであって考えたくないことだ。そもそも綴を手放す気は全くない。そう決めていた臣は鍋の中のホットココアにはちみつを入れ混ぜ合わせて塩をひとつまみ入れる。最後に火を消し、二つのマグカップにホットココアを入れて両手に持つ。

リビングに戻ったら綴の肩の周りに毛布がかかっている。部屋から取り出したのだろう。臣のキッチンからの足音を気づいて、綴が視線を臣に向けて、笑みを浮かべながら毛布を引き上げる。その言葉のないお誘いで胸が暖かく感じて臣が丁寧に毛布の下で綴の隣に座り、左手で持つマグカップを綴に手渡したらありがとうございます、と幸せそうに綴が呟く。

「あったかいっすね」

「むしろ熱いから気をつけて」

「アツアツの方が美味しいっす」

それもそうだ、と臣がくすくすと笑いながら自分のホットココアをすする。ぴったりの甘さ、ぬくぬくの毛布。そして綴の隣の温もり。心の騒めきがやっと止むことが出来た。

「久しぶりっすね。こうして臣さんと一緒に夜更かしするのが」

「そうか？確かに最近朝が早いから 0 時になる前に寝るようになったな」

「それもありますけど、臣さんが夜中で起きちゃったのも珍しいっす。最近いつも良さそうに寝るっすよ」

「ベッドで綴がいないと良く寝られないかもな」

「うわぁ、なんでいつもそうして恥ずかしいことを簡単に言えるんすか ... 」

気づいたら綴が半分飲んだホットココアをコーヒーテーブルに置いていた。脚本を書き続いてて良いよ、と臣は告げたら、すぐノートパソコンをまた手に取って既に耳に慣れたカタカタのキーの音がリビングに響続けている。それを聴きながら臣が自分のまわりを見回す。

コーヒーテーブルの上にはでたらめに置いてあるグリム兄弟やハンス・クリスチャン・アンデルセン等の本と臣が買ったレシピの絵本や写真集。本棚に飾りあったのはカンパニーの写真だけではなく、皆木家が全部揃った写真に臣自信の家族写真、そして那智や元ヴォルフのメンバー達の写真も一緒に飾ってある。同じパターンの二つのマグカップ。キッチンカウンターに置いてある自分の手袋と綴のマフラー。そして綴が着ている臣のシャツ。自分が作ったホットココアとはちみつのように、綴の存在がこんなに自分のと交ぜていたと実感している。

満ち足りる、という言葉はこういう時に使うだろうか。そう考えて臣がカタカタ打たれるノートパソコンの音と恋人の暖かさに安心させられて寝つかせる。

** ——-o0o——- **

「．．みさん．．．」

名前が呼ばれている。

「臣さん、」

綴が呼んでいる。

「臣さん、起きてください」

暖かい。このまま寝続けたい。でも綴が呼んだら起きないと。こうして臣が眠りから連れ出された。綴の髪が自分の額を擽りーーどうやら綴の左肩に寝落ちたようだ。手に持ったマグカップはコーヒーテーブルの上にのせてある。綴がやってくれたのだろう。

「．．．ごめん、寝落ちた。重いか？」

「大丈夫っすよ。それよりもうこんな時間なんだし、結構寒くなってるし、部屋に戻りましょーよ」

「脚本は？」

「今夜はここまでいいんで」

確かに壁の時計を見たらもう午前 3 時過ぎているし、毛布の下でもリビングが冷えてきた。ノートパソコンを閉めて身体を伸ばしておおあくびする綴を見つめて、臣がくすくすと笑う。何っすか、と綴の戸惑う目が自分に向けると臣が首を振る。

「臣さん寝ぼけてるんすか？」

「いや？よし、部屋に戻るんだろ」

そう言った臣が毛布を連れて立ち上がり、自由な右手を綴に伸ばす。部屋までにはたいした距離じゃないけれど綴と繋いだ手のなかの温もりが不思議にホットココアより全身全霊を温めて気がする。 2 人はリビングを後にして部屋に戻って、ベッドに入るまでお互い手を離さない。

毛布をちゃんと全身にかけた後、綴に眠そうな微笑みを向けて両腕を伸ばす。

「おいで」

何年経っても赤く染まった頬でするすると臣の腕の中に抱かれてくる綴がたまらなく可愛い。臣の腕の中にいる瞬間の小さくで満足そうなため息も仕方なく尊い。この温もりも自分の首を触れる指先も鼻を擽る砂色の髪もどれほど大事か、どれほどこの存在を愛しているかを実感させられる。

そしてあくびをしながら綴が臣の名前を呼んで、臣が軽く「ん？」と返事したら、顎に一つキスを落とされた。それだけは足りないと分かってるくせに、と言ってるように綴を引き込んでちゃんと口を捕まえて深く口付ける。「悪い夢を見ないように」と綴が呟く。

そうか、気づいてくれたのか。綴の眠そうな瞳を見つめたら、彼が柔らかく微笑む。

「俺で悪夢に臣さんを守れたらいいっすね」

「．．．全く、今誰が恥ずかしいこと言っているか」

「寝ぼけているっすよ。明日忘れるかもしれない」

「綴が忘れたら困るなぁ．．．」

「それでも気持ちは変わらないんで大丈夫っす」

最後の音節で確かに寝落ちてる綴の額にキスを落とせずにいられない。そうして臣がおやすみ、と呟きながら目を閉じる。

[ イラスト: なつの未来@72no_3ra1 ](https://twitter.com/72no_3ra1/status/1200711019821068288?s=21)

指先には綴の髪。唇には綴の額。腕の中に眠る恋人はきっと悪夢から守ってくれるだろうけど、それ以上に臣が何もかもから彼の存在そのものを守りたい。だってもうこんなに自分自身のと交ぜたのだ。

この両腕でこの存在を守れるように、と静かに祈った臣がやっと安心して眠りに落ちた。

** ——-o0o——- **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 正直、同棲臣綴の設定でスランプ中の綴くんも書きたいのでいつか書けるといいなぁ。日本語力的に。(頑張ります)
> 
> 読んで頂いて本当にありがとうございました！


	2. Presence

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Celebrating A3! Anime airing in a few days!!
> 
> I would like to thank Natsuno-san (@72no_3ra1 on twitter) because this fic began with my OmiTsuzu headcanon running wild after seeing one of their art with an OmiTsuzu living together setting. When I requested for an OmiTsuzu, they blessed me with an OmiTsuzu in the same setting as well. They let me write one scene based on the art, and even let me use the art as an illustration for this fic, which is such an honor. So, used by their permission, you will find their beautiful OmiTsuzu art included here at the end of this fic. Rejoice, mankind.
> 
> I also hope you’ll enjoy this fic!

Sometimes, Omi dreams about Nachi.

Most of the times they’re nice dreams that brightens the world when he wakes up. Of Nachi on the bike running by his side, loud laughter trailing in the wind. Of the heat trapped within Omi’s room, where they both spent the day lazing around doing and talking about everything and nothing. Of Nachi’s wildly blown hair, and the careless yawn when he stretches. Of the tips of Nachi’s fingers, lingering over his shoulder before leaving.

For the 25-year-old Omi, who had let go of his past and taken a few steps towards the future, these dreams are a blessing. They’re treasured memories, a reminder of a life with Nachi by his side and everything Nachi gave him.

But naturally, the past haunts humans. So sometimes, though very rarely so now, the dreams of Nachi turns into nightmares. Of the asphalt dyed black-red by Nachi’s blood. Of darkness, pressing, accusing, drowning him for staying alive. Of Nachi’s hand curling around someone else’s wrist, someone important to Omi, and pulling him away from his side, down-down-down into the abyss while his sins echo in the darkness: _why did I survive? Why am I alive?_

_ If I have no right of this life, then I should give everything I have to Nachi. After all, isn’t everything of me, right now, is what Nachi had left behind? _

Thus the nightmare comes to him tonight.

He could feel cold sweat sticking his skin to his shirt and the bedsheets as he opens his eyes, wide-eyed at the ceiling. For a terrifying moment, the darkness presses in: why am I alive, why am I even here, whywhywhy, and then the moment passes, leaving him almost breathless as he tries to grasp for logic. Reminds himself that he’s gone past this guilt. That Nachi would never accuse him for being alive. That Nachi would want him to live and be happy. That Nachi would never take away what is important to him.

He knows. He understands. And yet, the darkness presses into him still.

Who had Nachi taken in the dream—?

It’s probably a blessing that he doesn’t remember. Omi takes a deep breath, sighssoftly. Even if his head understands, it doesn’t calm the anxious whispers within his mind. So he rouses himself and sits up, one hand brushing the other side of the bed, and he pauses.

It’s empty. The sheets are cold, indicating that the person who should have been in bed with him has not been in for a long while. A glance at the slightly opened bedroom door and the light sneaking in from the living room confirms it—certainly, he remembers how his boyfriend had said during dinner that he might have a lot of ideas to write tonight. 

Before he’s even aware of it, like a moth to light, Omi’s feet are already bringing him to the door and out of the room, drawn to the familiar presence in the living room and the steady staccato sounds of typing that comes from it. 

As expected, his boyfriend is there, half-hunching and half- curling into himself on the sofa like a cat. Adorable, Omi thinks, almost unbidden, and a chuckle escapes his lips with the next breath before he realizes it. Perhaps that’s why Tsuzuru’s head snaps up in surprise, turning around until his gaze falls on Omi.

“Omi-san! Did I wake you up?”

Omi smiles. “No, not really,” he replies, lets his feet close the distance between the two of them so he can peek at Tsuzuru’s laptop screen. “It wasn’t you. Still writing?”

“Yeah, I have a bunch of ideas to note down anyway...” Tsuzuru says, but doesn’t turn back to his laptop. He stares at Omi instead, gaze searching for a moment, and for a second, Omi thinks he’s going to ask.

But the question never comes. So Omi places a hand on top of Tsuzuru’s head and asks, “I’m making hot chocolate, if you want some?”

There’s an unspoken request for company unsaid in-between those lines, and the way Tsuzuru’s gaze turns soft, the way his smile curves over his lips, tells Omi that he gets it.

“I’d like that, please.”

“Okay. Thank you, Tsuzuru.”

Each step to the kitchen is a familiar one. Just as familiar as taking out the pot and filling it with milk from the refrigerator before putting it on a low heat on the stove, or mixing it the cocoa powder once it boils. The gentle hum of the gas stove mixes with the staccato sounds of laptop keys that continues on, almost playful in its random pauses. Not even half a year after they both decided to move in together into this 1LDK apartment, and Omi has already forgotten how it feels to not have Tsuzuru’s constant presence around him.

If one day Tsuzuru were to disappear from his side—

It isn’t something he can fathom, nor does he want to. Omi definitely has no plan of letting go of Tsuzuru any time soon. He grabs the jar of honey by the kitchen counter and mixes it in, adding a pinch of salt and stirring it for a bit before finally turning off the stove and pouring the hot chocolate into two mugs. 

Their blanket from the bedroom is draped heavily around Tsuzuru’s shoulders when Omi returns to the living room. Perhaps noticing the sound of Omi’s footsteps, Tsuzuru pauses on his typing and looks up, smiles brightening as he lifts up the blanket on his side. A wordless invitation that sends warmth curling within Omi, drawing a small chuckle as he closes their distance. He sits next to Tsuzuru, letting the blanket falls around him and over his left shoulder—a small protective cocoon in a cold winter—and offers Tsuzuru the mug in his right hand. Tsuzuru presses the mug happily against his cheek before taking a sip.

“Mmm, so warm...”

“It’s really hot, be careful.”

“It tastes best when it’s really hot, so it’s fine.”

“That’s true,” Omi chuckles and finally takes a sip of his own hot chocolate. The burning liquid slid down within his throat and down his chest, warming him from inside while the blanket keeps him warm from the chilly bite of winter. And there’s warmth from Tsuzuru, too—his side pressing against Omi, his knee knocking against Omi’s own—and when Omi takes a breath, it finally feels like the anxiety abuzz within him earlier calms down.

“You know,” Tsuzuru says, softer than the rustle of the blanket. “It’s been a while since Omi-san stays up late with me.”

Omi blinks. Certainly, his work as a junior photographer often requires him to leave early in the morning, and that makes staying up late not an option anymore, most of the time. “I guess since I have to wake up early, I’ve been trying to get in bed before midnight.”

Tsuzuru hums. “That, too, but it’s unusual for Omi-san to wake up in the middle of the night, too. You always sleep so deeply lately.”

“Ah,” Omi hides a smile behind the rim of his mug. “I guess I can’t really sleep well if Tsuzuru isn’t sleeping next to me.”

As if on cue, a shade of red climbs up Tsuzuru’s cheeks up to the tips of his ears. “Omi-san! How could you say all the embarrassing thing so easily... I swear to god...”

The laughter that tickles his throat feels good when it slips off his mouth. Almost as if it takes away the last of the darkness still pressing and clinging to him.

Tsuzuru sets aside his mug on the table and happily opens his laptop back when Omi tells him that he should continue writing. Listening to the familiar sounds of keyboard, Omi lets his gaze roam around the living room absentmindedly, and thinks, _ah_.

There are his books of recipes and photo collections on the table, stack almost haphazardly in-between fairytale books of the Grimm Brothers and Hans Christian Andersen. The shelf by the TV has not only a group photo of Mankai Company members, but also a well-taken shot of Minagi family dinner scene, all brothers present in the frame, and a photo of Fushimi family made up of four bulky men standing in front of their house. His shirt that Tsuzuru wears. The two mugs with matching patterns, one still cradled in his hand. His gloves that are abandoned on the kitchen table, Tsuzuru’s muffler on top of it.

Like the honey he mixes into the hot chocolate, every corner of this place is proof of how Tsuzuru’s presence has been so tightly weaved into Omi’s own.

Perhaps this is what they call being content.

Oni doesn’t mean to slip back into sleep when he closes his eyes, but the warmth of his boyfriend pressing against his side and the almost monotone, staccato rhythm of the laptop’s keyboard feels more calming more than anything else that it’s too easy for sleep the take him away.

** ——-o0o——- **

“...mi-san...”

He’s being called.

“...Omi-san.”

Tsuzuru is calling his name.

“Omi-san, please wake up.”

It’s warm. He wants to just burrow back into sleep like this. But Tsuzuru is calling and when Tsuzuru calls, Omi wants to answer. 

He wakes up to sandpaper-colored strands tickling his forehead, and blinks. Oh, he’d fallen asleep on Tsuzuru’s shoulder, it seems. The mug he’d been cradling is safely resting on the table right next to its matching pair. Tsuzuru probably had taken it out of his hands when he fell asleep.

Slowly, he pulls away. “Sorry, was I heavy?”

Tsuzuru shakes his head, eyes soft. “It’s not a problem. But it’s past three, and it’s getting really cold out here. Wanna go back to our room?”

Their bedroom. Omi lets a smile curves over his lips on that phrase. “What about the script?”

“I think I’ll leave it where it is tonight.” 

Certainly, the wall clock spells out three-twenty in the morning, and the temperature in their living room feels much colder than a few hours ago. Omi watches Tsuzuru close his laptop and stretch, a huge yawn escaping his lips. Adorable, he thinks again, and can’t help but chuckle, earning an odd look from his boyfriend.

“What is it?” Tsuzuru tilts his head. “Omi-san, are you half-asleep?”

“Not really?” Omi replies, finally raising to his feet and pulling the blanket into his arms. Holding it under one arm, he offers his free hand towards Tsuzuru with a smile. “Let’s go back to our room.”

The distance between the living room and their bedroom isn’t enough to matter, but having Tsuzuru’s hand intertwined with his own in the short few steps it takes to get them into the room matters. None of them lets go until they climb back into bed, Omi spreading the blanket properly over the two of them before opening his arms towards Tsuzuru and smiles.

“Come here.”

No matter how many years pass, the way Tsuzuru’s cheeks turn a lovely shade of red in the darkness even as he scoots into Omi’s arms is a treat. The small, contented sigh he lets out against Omi’s shoulder is precious. The warmth of their bodies pressed together, the tips of Tsuzuru’s fingers on his collarbone, the sandpaper-colored strans tickling Omi’s nose. It’s almost overwhelming how much Omi treasures this, how much he loves this.

Tsuzuru yawns again, but this time with Omi’s name on the tail of that yawn. Omi tilts his head down, a soft, questioning hum on his lips, but instead of an answer he gets a kiss on the chin.

Unsatisfying. So Omi pulls Tsuzuru closer until his boyfriend is half on top of him and demands a proper kiss—a deep press of his mouth against Tsuzuru’s, tongue searching out a breathless gasp, sharing the air they breathe in in the split second they could—and when Tsuzuru finally pulls away, it’s with a grin and a soft murmur: “So that no nightmare will visit you.”

Omi forgets to breathe for a second, and then wonders why he’s surprised. Tsuzuru always has a knack in noticing things about people. He shouldn’t be surprised that Tsuzuru had noticed. Omi stares at the soft, sleepy smile tugging at the corners of Tsuzuru’s lips.

“It’d be nice—“ the words cut off with another yawn; Tsuzuru’s obviously trying to stay awake. “—hhm—be nice if I could protect Omi-san from all the nightmares.”

Omi hides a chuckle into Tsuzuru’s hair. “Who’s saying all the embarrassing things now?”

“I’m half-asleep, so I’ll probably forget it in the morning.”

“Is that so? I’d be sad if you forgot though...”

“My feelings don’t change even if I forgot, so it’s fine...”

Tsuzuru’s voice grows fainter each word, and by the last syllable, his breathing settles into a light snore. Omi smiles, presses a kiss against Tsuzuru’s forehead, and burrow into the warmth. He etches a _good night_ against Tsuzuru’s forehead before finally closing his eyes.

[ Illustration by: なつの未来@72no_3ra1 on twitter ](https://twitter.com/72no_3ra1/status/1200711019821068288?s=21)

Tsuzuru’s hair under the tips of his fingers. Tsuzuru’s forehead under his lips. By drowning in this warmth, perhaps, the sleeping Tsuzuru in his arms will be able to banish any nightmare that dares to visit. However, above all, Omi thinks he wishes to protect the presence within his arms. The presence that has been so intertwined, weaved into his own, and becomes an anchor in the storm.

It’s with this prayer that Omi falls into a contented sleep this time.

** ——-o0o——- **

**Author's Note:**

> Tokyo winter is cold and my kotatsu is no Omi and Tsuzuru but I would not survive without it.
> 
> Thanks for reading this far! You can always poke me at @isuilde on twitter to yell about Mankai Boys and OmiTsuzu! (Also please check out Natsuno-san’s art on twitter @72no_3ra1 for adorable and hot OmiTsuzu and ItaMisu and Yousei Boys arts!)


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